The burning fire. In front of the flickering stove, Tiamat was sitting, carefully wrapped in a cloak or clothing.
Because she was too close, some of her clothes were singed, but Tiamat herself didn’t seem to care much about it.
“Tiamat, you might catch fire like that.”
Perhaps she really could catch fire; Ereta spoke with concern as she watched Tiamat practically glued to the fireplace. However, Tiamat shook her head and replied:
“I’d rather burn… I don’t want to be cold anymore. I’m tired of the outside world…”
It was an uncharacteristically weak voice for Tiamat, but it was half-joking all the same.
Ereta furrowed her brow and shook her head. Meanwhile, Phey, who had been rolling around on the long sofa, buried their cheek into the cushion and said:
“Lizards are ugly!”
“That’s right… This old man is ugly. But if this ugliness can save me… I’ll gladly become uglier…”
A line that sounded like it came straight from a moment of revelation made Aslan chuckle softly, causing Tiamat to snicker while adjusting her collar.
It was a comfortable atmosphere. The crackling sound of the burning fireplace accompanied by a cozy warmth filled the air, creating a relaxing ambiance that made everyone want to lounge around.
How long had it been since they experienced such comfort? Aslan leaned back against the sofa, glancing at his companions who were similarly resting.
Angie, who had taken off her cherished dragon leather boots and wiggled her toes, Fey who had curled up on Aslan’s lap, and Ereta who occasionally glanced at Aslan while fidgeting with her fingers—all seemed to embrace the current tranquility.
Though a few members were missing from their group, Aslan didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
“…Aslan, do you think Lumel will be alright?”
But perhaps Aslan wasn’t the only one feeling this way, because Angie, who had been wiggling her toes, suddenly asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Like being eaten or used as an experiment subject.”
Is that what Anton is like? Aslan smiled faintly and shook his head.
“That won’t happen. The reason he took Lumel must be simple enough.”
“How can you be so sure? Do you know him well?”
This question came from Ereta, who edged closer to Aslan after asking.
She subtly scooted closer, and Fey, seeing this, rested their leg on Ereta’s lap.
“To some extent.”
“Is there absolutely no chance of betrayal?”
This time it was Tiamat who asked, peeking out slightly with a skeptical tone. Aslan rubbed his chin and shrugged.
“While I can’t say it’s impossible, it didn’t feel like betrayal to me.”
Of course, the world is unpredictable. Just as I’taar succumbed to poison and the Veteran of combat changed sides, it was possible that Anton might have also defected to the priests’ side.
But even so, Aslan couldn’t easily picture Anton betraying them.
The idea of his madness and thirst for vengeance being quelled and switching allegiance to another deity didn’t come to mind.
The reason was simple.
‘Anton is similar to me.’
Because they were the same kind of person.
Though it was a vague justification, the others didn’t press further. Since hiding things was nothing new for Aslan, they stopped worrying about it.
Besides, it wasn’t something they were overly concerned about.
If they were seriously considering the possibility of Anton’s betrayal, they wouldn’t have entered his magical tower in the first place.
Comfortable silence returned once more, and when Ereta leaned her head on Aslan’s shoulder, Angie looked uncomfortable and tried to stand up.
“Am I late?”
Suddenly, Lumel appeared, causing Angie to stumble and sit back down.
About an hour had passed, and the group wondered why Lumel was so late. Then they noticed the reason visually.
The meticulously wrapped new outfit on Lumel’s body.
The deep crimson velvet dress, which shimmered faintly, explained the delay. It was the kind of dress that would take quite a bit of time to put on alone.
The warm Northern Empire-style dress revealed a hint of cleavage due to its snug fit around the chest but was elegantly covered by a bear fur mantle, giving it an almost wholesome appearance.
It was such a fine piece of clothing that even Ereta, upon seeing it, widened her eyes and murmured how beautiful it was.
“Although it feels a bit tight around the chest… Does it suit me well?”
Lumel shyly smiled and looked at Aslan. Recalling Lumel’s confession and declaration of unrequited love, Aslan nodded slowly.
“Yes, it suits you very well. You certainly carry yourself like a noble, so this kind of attire fits you perfectly.”
Blushing bashfully, Lumel partially hid her smile behind her braided hair and stepped forward modestly, causing the deep crimson velvet to flutter.
When Lumel settled beside Aslan, he noticed the mana flowing through her garments.
Visible only through luck and mana perception, the dense mana flowed through the fabric, embodying invisible effects.
Both the level of magic and the quality of the clothing were high. The madness and obsession of some old man were clearly embedded within, making it a unique piece indeed.
“This is a magical garment.”
At Aslan’s unintentional comment, Lumel blinked in surprise, having not known this before.
Tiamat glanced at Lumel and scoffed.
“Isn’t it some strange magic? If he betrayed us, it’d likely be cursed with something suspicious.”
A reasonable assumption, though unlikely.
Before Aslan could respond, Lumel interjected.
“Probably not. I think.”
Caught off guard, Aslan turned to look at Lumel, who twirled her braided hair with her fingers while shifting her hazel eyes nervously.
Her inability to explain her judgment led to silence. Aslan observed her profile and nodded in agreement.
“Likely, as Lumel says… The magic imbued in this garment probably isn’t harmful.”
“Hmm, is that so? Well, I don’t know much about magic, so I can’t judge why you think that.”
“I still find it suspicious and dislike it. I never liked old men anyway.”
Though Tiamal cast a dubious glance, and Angie remained skeptical, Aslan made no effort to explain further.
Aslan’s reasoning was clear.
Anton, a man who lost his entire family to the Supreme Divinity’s Sword. Recalling how his daughter was killed by a martial monk, the magic woven into this garment was likely an unconscious manifestation of his desire not to lose another daughter.
The magic woven into this dress was probably protective in nature, far superior to the defensive enchantments found in the garments Ereta bought from the wizards’ city.
Though why Lumel was mistaken for his daughter remained unclear, Aslan saw this as a definite gain.
In any case, since they intended to bring her aboard as a companion, they could improve the clothing of others like Ereta, Phey, and Angie.
Tiamat, who tended to discard clothing anyway, wouldn’t require much attention.
Just as Aslan thought this, footsteps echoed from the lower staircase of the magical tower.
Turning his head with curiosity about the delay, Aslan saw Anton appear, carrying a tray laden with food—meat and stew enough for everyone.
The meat, which must have been red before cooking, was large and somewhat ominous.
“Are you hungry? I thought it was dinner time, so I prepared a meal.”
“Now I don’t hate it so much. I can accept this old man as a companion.”
With a flip of attitude, Angie grinned and accepted the food, followed by the rest of the group who sat down to eat.
“Anton.”
“Hm? What is it?”
“Isn’t that… the deer we saw outside?”
“Eh?”
At the exchange between Anton and Aslan, the group paused mid-bite to observe.
“Didn’t I bring it for eating?”
Collectively, they sighed in response to Anton’s answer.
*
The dead do not return. This is an obvious truth.
Even if it is a life desperately needed, what has already departed does not come back.
Most of the veterans among the group had taken lives before.
Thus, there was no need to explain the significance of losing the only deer that could help them leave this area quickly.
There was no undoing what had already been done.
Since Aslan had killed the only being capable of wielding necromantic magic, reconstructing the deer from the meat simmering in the stew, the dissected bones, and the roasted portions was impossible.
So, the group accepted the situation.
They enjoyed their meal, occasionally criticizing Anton, and rested.
They bathed in the underground bathroom of the tower after a long time and lounged near the warm fireplace.
At the end of their rest, the group reconvened in the fireplace room.
As Angie nodded off and rested her head on Fey’s shoulder, Aslan intended to ask Anton for help.
He planned to explain that they were going to capture the Divine Being’s Sword and needed his firepower and cunning, detailing where and how they would ambush and seize it.
However, Anton did not listen.
The moment the words “Divine Being’s Sword” were spoken, he cut Aslan off.
“Fine. Let’s go together.”
No explanation was necessary for Anton.
No persuasion would sway him.
Capturing the Divine Being’s Sword.
The seasoned martial monk who slaughtered his family and took his left arm and leg.
The Divine Being’s Sword.
The mere fact that they were going to kill it was enough for Anton to stake his life.
“Thank you.”
Knowing this, Aslan simply expressed gratitude, while Tiamat asked uneasily:
“Don’t you want to hear more? Do you know our chances of success…?”
“It’s unnecessary. I’ve always wanted to kill the Divine Being’s Sword.”
Anton glanced at Lumel as he spoke.
Warm, caring, and tender eyes—like those of a father looking at his daughter. When Lumel’s eyes watered, Anton smiled gently and turned back to Tiamat.
“My daughter has returned, but my thirst for vengeance hasn’t faded. That monster killed my son, my wife, and tried to kill me. I haven’t forgotten that scene.”
Grinding his teeth, Anton’s eyes gleamed.
The emotions burning brightly in his eyes were malice.
Malice that he ignited as he picked up his flail.
A large cylindrical part of the flail, adorned with various magical symbols and modifications.
Holding it, he declared:
“This is my son’s final creation. I cannot close my eyes until I pierce that monster’s heart with this. So, whatever you say, I’m going to kill that monster.”
Only then did the group understand why Aslan had mentioned that coming and leaving were the issues.
The master of magic, Anton. Persuasion was unnecessary for him.
His madness burned solely for the martial monk, so the group watched as Anton stood up with uneasy expressions.
Suddenly, Anton rose and walked toward the exit of the tower. The group’s curious gazes followed, and just as someone was about to ask where he was going,
—BOOM.
A distant explosion echoed.
As the group tensed and reached for their weapons, Anton extended his hand to stop them.
Using the explosion as background noise, Anton grabbed a nearby coat and put it on.
Donning a plague doctor mask and cap, he loaded Sowbrain arrows into his repeating crossbow.
With metallic clinks, the elder spoke.
“Stay seated.”
The old man standing at the tower’s exit. Between the folds of his tilted coat, countless weapons and tools jingled, as the elder laughed with eyes stained by anger and madness.
As if he found the current moment incredibly enjoyable and couldn’t contain himself.
“I have guests to entertain.”
And with that, the elder pulled the lever of his repeating crossbow.
Click!
The cocked crossbow seemed to echo the anguished cry of the martial monk.
